Simple Observations
by Asharza
Summary: He doesn't particularly care, nor will he ever really do anything about it: but he kind of understands it all. Written for POW's WO #5


"_He alone is an acute observer, who can observe minutely without being observed."_

-Johann Kaspar Lavater.

It never failed to amaze him, how long he could just sit there - sideways in his chair, his back against a pillar – and not be noticed. A skull ring chafes against his slender fingers, as he builds staircases in the air. His black hoodie pulled over his head, not particularly hiding his face, but certainly adding to the loner effect. He blends in with the shadows of the pavilion fire like a dream, they would mix into his olive skin, gently caressing his face, as if they wanted to protect him, hide him away. They would whisper of all the mistakes he's made, tell him it was alright, and he was forgiven.

Yes, it would never cease to amaze him how long he could go unnoticed by a crowd of hundreds. But here he was. Altogether ignoring the plate of brisket, and mashed potatoes lain out in front of him. He had always preferred to observe.

And observe he did.

Demigods were a slightly miserable race. Even the kindest and meekest of the bunch would continue to sustain the false impression that they were overall better than the mere human race. That just because they _thought_ they knew more about the true ways of the world, it would give them a free pass to ignore the rules of society. Maybe some held it unconsciously, the Hephaestus children, the children of Demeter, even a few handpicked children of Apollo. And maybe some thought it a fact, mainly the conceited children of Athena, and Ares.

The day he understood just how humans and demigods were truly programmed was the day he realized he was no different. In one way or another they were all created with the basic human instinct; eat, sleep, breath, don't croak before you hit sixty.

Then there were the ways humans and demigods differed.

The same formula, different patterns.

For humans it was get a job so you can put food on your table. Sleep as if you will do it every night for the rest of your life. Take every last breath for granted. _Hope,_ you never catch terminal cancer or get hit by a bus.

For demigods? Eat while you have time. Sleep when you feel safe enough to let your guard down. Breathe while praying to the gods it won't be your last. _Hope,_ you will live long enough to discover the wonders of family.

Maybe it wasn't always that severe, but he certainly felt it was. Maybe the demigods thinking they were better than humans was justifiable, maybe because the demigods wasted their time _just a little less_ made them smarter. But he rather doubted it.

This, however, was a discussion for the ages because there would never be any clear solution.

It was also one he held little interest in, so he settled for sitting back and observing.

There was a girl who had caught his eye – she sat in the very middle of her table. She looked of some importance, but clearly didn't want to be there. She was pretty he supposed, black hair, grey eyes, freckles. He couldn't tell with the scowl lining her features.

She reminded him of a dead girl he'd once talked to, the same facial features, possibly the same fate. Although he rather hoped she wouldn't get dragged into a deserted, dank ally, and stabbed multiple times by a man who was suffering a psychotic breakdown.

They also acted the same, sitting in the front of a sea of people, screaming for attention, and then acting as if they couldn't care less when they finally had it.

He watched as she rolled her eyes at the words of her ridiculous sister, words they had both _clearly s_topped listening to after: "and then I said, "Damn it. She didn't even_ know_ passports had an expiration date! How the hell did she expect us to go to Rome together? And he was all –" He watched dully as she rolled her eyes, twisting her perfectly shaped hair back, and re-applying her lipstick.

He almost snorted as her head darted to the side giving a quick glance to a few demigods in the corner making complete and utter fools of themselves. Despite being a couple of feet away he could clearly tell she wanted to join them, even if the food they were throwing at each other would risk harm to her perfect clothes. And then again, her eyes centered in front of her, her back arched upwards in the feeble illusion she was sitting tall and proud, and she put up the forefront she was the most important thing in this room as she continued to "listen" to her vapid and predictable sisters.

It was all the same, don't smile, don't grin, pretend like you're more important than you ever will be. Don't act like you want to fit in and have fun. Otherwise, some people will call you ridiculous. That wasn't to say all people longed to be who they laughed at, made fun of, and called ridiculous, but it was true in this case.

She didn't even realize he was watching her, observing and understanding. And in that second he decided if she wanted to waist away her life pretending, that was her fault. But the dead girl certainly regretted it. The dead girl – Courtney – she certainly regretted the day she decided to put on a mask and fool the world. But who was he to judge? He was just like her, standing in the corner afraid to jump into the crowd from fear of rejection. He was much more comfortable staying where he fit in, and was safe.

And with that he moved onto the next screwed-up thing that caught his eye.

Sure, the patterns were different, all humans all demigods differ in one way or another, but the formula was always the same.

So he hung back and observed. There was the main pattern: the basic human and demigod instinct, eat, sleep, breathe, survive, and then there was the shortcomings, the ridiculous things that smash into our heads telling us to be a specific way because you can't possibly be anything else, otherwise _nothing less than the world_ will jump out to get you. Don't walk too fast, don't run too slow. Say this, avoid that. Pretend so you don't get burned.

And then there's the final act: Nico Di Angelo himself, he can pretend to understand the human and the demigod race, he can observe without being noticed, he can find all the shortcomings and point out all the flaws - but he will never in his life remove the mask that holds himself together. 'Cause apparently . . . It's just too damn dangerous.

So at the end of the day, he wonders, _was there even a point to this? Or was this whole train of thought just a bunch of meaningless rambling? Do I even care? _

No. He doesn't.

* * *

Well . . . I suppose I'll be honest. I don't really know what I think about this story. I'm not to familiar with Nico Di Angelo, and I haven't read the books in ages. I just kind of wrote it one day, and you know how the human mind travels from one thought to the next sometimes without any true completion of the original topic - or at least mine does. So yeah, I hope it made sense, and isn't as disjointed as I think.

And I'm also sorry about how short it is, and that I kind of skidded around the topic for this prompt. Which was to incorporate one of the following topics into our story. I used "Damn it. S/he didn't even know passports had an expiration date."

As always reviews are welcomed and loved, I hope you like it, and most importantly - enjoy!

-Ash


End file.
